


Every Time You Speak

by Ribbons_Undone



Series: Second Chance [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbons_Undone/pseuds/Ribbons_Undone
Summary: Dean has been back for weeks and Sam still hasn't told him how he feels. Every time he opens his mouth to speak, he means to, but every time what slips out is miles away from what he wants to say.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Second Chance [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834855
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Every Time You Speak

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place early on in season 4. Sequel to _The Only Thing You Can Do With Regret Is Move Forward_

* * *

_Every Time You Speak_

Dean was back. _He was back_. Alive. In the flesh. Reborn. Risen. Resurrected. _Breathing right in front of him_.

Sam stared, and had to use every cheesy idiom in the book to remind him that this wasn’t all a dream. That Dean was actually _back_ …

And it had been weeks.

Sam still hadn’t told him how he felt. He told himself he would. The second Dean showed up and Sam embraced his older brother, and the general buzzing in his ears subsided from the shock, Sam promised himself he would tell Dean how he felt.

Because if he couldn’t do it now, then what was even the point of getting his brother back?

Every time he opens his mouth to speak, Sam promises the next words to cross his lips will be the words he’s been keeping bottled up inside for years.

Every time Dean cracks a smile, or a frown, or his eyebrows pinch together as he tries to figure out what the heck is on Sam’s mind. He opens his mouth to say it, but every time he just laughs a little, looks away, and shakes his head. The next thing out of his mouth is miles away from what he really means to say.

Every time Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets. Every time he pats the roof of the Impala like she’s an old friend. Every time he orders pie off the menu.

Every time Dean cranks the stereo and grins over at Sam, as if daring him to complain, and Sam just sighs and tolerates it because…to be honest, he’s kind of missed Dean and his music.

Every time they fall exhausted onto the motel beds, Sam means to turn his head and say it. Every time he watches his brother fall asleep.

Every time he meets with Ruby, and fucks her senseless the way he knows Dean would like it. The way he _wants_ to.

Every time he takes her blood into his mouth and feels the power rush to the surface of his skin.

Every time he sends a demon back to hell.

Every time he stands gasping over a kill, no matter if the human inside lived or died, and Dean gives him that look like he doesn’t even know who his little brother is anymore. Sam wants to tell him _exactly_ what kind of little brother he is.

Every time Dean calls him a name that hits a little too close to home, Sam thinks that maybe… _maybe he already knows._ But every time Dean just laughs and says he’s kidding, “don’t be such a little girl,” and slaps him on the shoulder before sauntering away.

Every time he watches Dean’s back retreat, he wills himself to call out and _say something_.

Every time he bites his tongue and looks away. Because how can he ruin things when he just got Dean back? How can he risk turning Dean away from him and losing him all over again?

Every time Dean opens up to him…and Sam feels the chains of Hell loosening their grip just a fraction, letting him see into the man he knew from four months ago… he _almost_ says something.

Then—every time—Dean is speaking again and the moment has passed, and Sam curses himself and tumbles through the rest of the conversation with that numb buzz of regret in his ears and on his tongue.

He tells himself he will say it when the time is right. But it’s been weeks and the time has never seemed right. He’s beginning to wonder if that’s just an excuse, because the world doesn’t allow for that kind of rom-com crap, as Dean would say, and Sam feels stupid believing it will.

If anything, it feels as though the world is conspiring to keep them distracted. Angels and demons and the looming apocalypse that it is their job to stop…

Dean’s new relationship with the angels makes him nervous. They already have it in for him. They only tolerate him because of Dean…because they need him in this war of theirs, and Sam—for the moment—is useful.

It’s hard to admit to something you know is a sin when the whole of heaven seems to have its cards stacked against you.

But then Dean had told him about Hell, and something in Sam broke seeing the pain etched across his brother’s face. He didn’t think, just pulled Dean into him and held his head to his chest while Dean sobbed—deep, shuddering, choking sobs that sent tremors down Sam’s spine and soured his stomach.

He had just wanted to comfort Dean somehow, erase everything that Hell had put him through. _Save him_.

So when Dean pulled away, arms shaking from the emotional drain, Sam didn’t think, just put his hands on either side of Dean’s face and leaned in to place his lips on his.

He felt Dean stiffen. The space of two heartbeats skipped past, thudding against the ribs of Sam’s chest. Dean was too still. His lips weren’t moving. He pulled back.

The look on Dean’s face was shock, confusion. Sam swallowed hard, dropped his hands away. He could feel the tears stinging behind his eyes, turning them red. He felt his throat swelling from holding them back and turned away, moving past the car. He placed a hand over his mouth.

“Sam? Sammy, wait—” Dean’s voice behind him, but Sam just kept moving, running blindly into the brush. “Sam!”

He ran without watching where he was going, tree branches scraping against his cheeks and arms as he pushed past them—blurry shapes in the bright midday sun. He could hear Dean calling his name, calling after him, but he couldn’t make out the words over the loud pounding in his ears.

He tripped over something and stumbled, falling to his hands and knees. The first choked sob fell past his lips as the stinging in his palms reached conscious thought.

_What the hell was I thinking?_

He wasn’t. That was the kicker. He hadn’t _thought_ for once, just acted out of blind desire. Of all the rotten moments he could have picked, how could he have picked _that_ one to fuck up? Why couldn’t he have _said_ how he felt instead of doing something so royally _stupid_ and _heartless_?

Sam pressed his bleeding palms into his eyes and gasped, trying to breathe past the emotion clawing its way up his throat. His chest burned, ached in a way he hadn’t realized was humanly possible.

“Sam!! God damn it—” The sound of Dean’s voice was close—too close. A string of curses and a crashing noise followed—the loud _snap_ of a tree limb and the thrashing of leaves and branches as Dean fought through the underbrush. “Sam!!” he yelled again as he burst into the small clearing.

Suddenly Dean was at his elbow, blinking down at him. Sam froze, his eyes swimming as they widened and stared up at his brother.

He couldn’t read the expression on his brother’s face—not entirely. Worry, annoyance, anger—and something else he couldn’t place. At least not before Dean dropped to his knees in front of him and pulled Sam into a tight embrace.

“Jesus, Sammy, why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Dean rasped. His hands were fisted in Sam’s shirt, balled up in the space between his shoulder blades.

“What?” Sam blurted, thoroughly thrown by that. This hadn’t been the reaction he had expected. Maybe a fist to the nose, but not _this_.

And then Dean was pulling back and was gripping his chin, twisting it to face him.

“I know you went to college, Sammy, but sometimes you’re dumb as a tire iron.” Dean laughed a little, but the sound was forced, strained.

A second later Dean’s mouth was crushing his lips, so hard Sam was sure they would be bruised later. He didn’t care. His mind was pleasantly detached, floating around in a cloud of _what the hell is happening_ but he didn’t care about that either. He met Dean’s lips with a force that spoke of all the times he’d wanted to come clean and tell Dean how he felt—and all those months of regret that had gnawed at his chest while Dean had been stuck in the pit.

They fell apart, gasping for breath—spit and tears and blood falling to the ground underneath them. Dean’s hands were on his shoulders, Sam’s tangled in the front of Dean’s shirt. They still knelt in the dirt, and Sam could feel the dampness creeping through the knees of his jeans.

A long moment of silence passed between them, the only sounds those of their heavy breathing, and the birds twittering in the trees. A small animal scurried through the underbrush behind them.

“I wanted to tell you,” Sammy said finally, breaking the silence. “But every time, I just—I couldn’t.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Sammy,” Dean said gently. His eyes were a soft green, the morning sun reflecting off his irises and dappling them with flecks of gold.

“I know, but this—not this,” Sam said.

“You know it’s pretty obvious,” Dean replied. There was a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“It is?”

Dean nodded. “It was softer before, so I wasn’t always sure what…if I wasn’t just seeing things where they weren’t. But ever since I came back…it’s like you’re screaming it at me. I can hear it in your voice every time you speak.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “But I’ve never said anything!” he insisted.

“Didn’t have to.”

Dean closed the space between them and pressed his lips to Sam’s briefly.

“I know you, Sammy, I know there’s been something you’ve been wanting to tell me. I just didn’t realize what it was.” Dean laughed a little, but there was no mirth in it. “Those four months I was gone must have been hell for you too.”

“You have no idea,” Sam replied. He moved his hands up, winding them in the short strands of Dean’s hair—gripped him tightly and leaned his forehead against Dean’s.

“It killed me not telling you…before,” he admitted. Sam screwed his eyes shut, pushed down the pit of dread rising in his stomach. “I should have said it, but I was too scared to… and then you were gone, and all I could think was how you’d never know… how _I_ would never know…”

“I know,” Dean said softly, “Believe me, I know.”

“And now you’re back,” Sam said simply. He loosened the hand he had clenched at the base of Dean’s skull—practically pulling his hair out—and ran his fingers through the soft fuzz.

“Then what the hell are you waiting for, Sammy?” Dean taunted. Sam watched Dean run his tongue over his bottom lip, mesmerized for the moment. Then his eyes snapped back up to green and gold.

“You really gonna make me say it?” he asked. He gave Dean a look, like he couldn’t believe how ridiculous his brother was being.

“Told you, I know you,” Dean replied, “Trust me, you ain’t saying it for me. I already know how you feel.” When Sam was silent for a long moment, Dean continued. “Say it, Sammy. I want to hear it straight from those girly lips of yours.” He smiled, taunting Sam.

“You’re a dick,” Sam told him. He took a deep breath. “I love you, Dean.”

“There it is.” Dean’s smirk only grew wider. He patted Sam on the cheek. “Knew you had it in you. I love you too, moron. Now, can we go? My legs are falling asleep.”

Sam laughed a little, stumbling to his feet and helping his brother to his.

“Alright, I say we hit the road, stop at the first diner we see,” Dean said as they picked their way through the brush back to the car. “I could use a slice of pie.”

“Every time you speak—” Sam broke off, shaking his head. “I swear, Dean, you drive me nuts.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” Dean replied, flashing him a smile.

“Yeah, I do.”

Sam hung his head, hiding the grin trying to crawl off his face. For once in his life, his chest felt light. Yeah, there were still things he was keeping from Dean, but at least the biggest one was now out in the open. The gamble paid off. How was he this lucky?

“Hey, _Thumbelina_ ,” Dean called. Sam’s head jerked up. Dean had his forearms on the roof of the Imapala, grinning at him. “Get your ass in the car. Pie’s not the only thing on the menu tonight.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. As he fumbled for the car door, practically throwing himself into the passenger seat, all he could hear was the loud, bellowing laughter coming from his brother.

Honestly, every time he speaks…Sam’s not sure whether to punch him in the face or kiss him silly.

Maybe he’ll do both every now and then, keep things even.

Or maybe he’ll find a way to finally shut Dean up.

Yeah, Sam’s definitely going to try for it. Either way he sees it ending with a mouthful of Dean, and he kind of likes the thought of that.

His only regret is that he didn’t try this sooner.


End file.
